


My Sisters' Keeper

by shan_love



Series: Tales of Oriana Hawke [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Family Dynamics, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:40:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1236916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shan_love/pseuds/shan_love
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m sorry, sister,” she whispered, the words quiet enough that no one heard them save herself. “I’m sorry I failed you,” she swallowed thickly and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead as a single tear broke free of its’ brothers to carve a path through the grime staining her cheek. “Goodbye, Bethany,” </p><p>DA2 fic set during the Prologue, before the start of Act I.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Sisters' Keeper

As the last of the ‘spawn fell Oriana stopped short, her breath emerging from between her lips in desperate pants. She’d never had the occasion to use so much magic in so short a time before and it was beginning to take its toll, leaving her breathless and the edges of her vision hazy. But, as she turned and saw the others standing scattered but victorious, she allowed herself a moment to rest. _We’re alright. We’ll get through this._

“We should press on before they regroup,” the redheaded warrior-woman called, her arm already around her templar man.

Oriana nodded and started towards them, unable to keep herself from wondering how long the templar would last; if his ashen skin and ghostly colored eyes were any indication, it wouldn’t be long now. She wondered if the warrior, _Aveline_ , her mind whispered, knew her husband’s time was short. If she didn’t, she certainly wouldn’t be able to deny it much longer.

She shook her head, feeling suddenly uncomfortable with the intimate turn her thoughts had taken. Regardless whether or not Aveline knew, it was none of _her_ concern. The sooner the templar fell, the safer she and Bethany would be and _that_ was as far as her involvement went.

In her distraction, she’d taken less than a half-dozen steps towards the rest of her party when an odd feeling from below made her pause mid-stride. The earth was shaking beneath her feet and she couldn’t stop her eyes from going wide as she caught a glimpse of the monstrous being responsible for it; an ogre, standing at _least_ ten feet high, advanced on their makeshift band with bestial hate burning in its eyes.

It roared, the power of the sound making even the air tremble and give way, and she felt a spike of fear pierce her heart as she realized something so horrible it made her blood both quicken and still. The beast was looking at her mother. And Bethany.

And there was _nothing_ she could do.

So far was the distance between them that not even her longest ranged spell would cross; she could only will her frozen feet to thaw and pray to the Maker and any other gods listening that, if only they’d let her reach them in time, she’d do whatever they willed.

SuddenlyBethany stepped forward, drawing the hulking beasts’ eye from their mother with bravery she hadn’t known her younger sibling possessed until that moment. The words, “Maker, give me strength,” accompanied the raising of her staff and a burst of fire that rolled off the beasts chest-plate like rain off a mountain.

In response, the creature lashed out, its massive hand wrapping around her slender waist and hoisting her from the ground as if she weighed nothing at all. And Oriana, still too far away to intercede, was left unable to do anything but watch in mute horror as its grip tightened and her sister screamed.

The sound of bones cracking filled the air, making the elder girl’s heart clench painfully in her chest as she watched her only sister slammed into the ground again and again before the creature let her fall in a heap, her limbs unnaturally twisted and her once bright eyes already dim. And she knew with gut wrenching certainty that the youngest Hawke lived no more.

Slowly she raised her eyes from Bethany’s now broken form, knowing without doubt that the sight would be burned into her lids until her own dying day and, as her flaming orbs met the beasts demonic counterpart, she felt a hate rise in her chest such as she had never known.

Almost without realizing it, she started to run, the edges of her vision burning scarlet as her sisters life flashed before her. Bethany had been such a sweet little girl; never in her eighteen years had she spoken a harsh word to anyone, not even once. Not even when they deserved it. So it had been her job, her duty, to protect her from harm. And she’d failed her. Her saintly sister…cut down by a beast formed of sin.

From somewhere behind she heard Carver call her name but it barely penetrated the blood haze that had taken her mind as she twirled her staff in her hands, casting spell after spell at the demon that, in a matter of moments, had destroyed her entire world.

If others of the ‘spawn crossed her path they didn’t stand long, her staff cutting them down with both fire and steel. And, suddenly, she was there, close enough to smell the rankness of the beasts’ breath on the air, and she vowed that, even if she were to die here, the creature would be the first to fall.

It lunged at her but she danced out of reach, countering with a fire spell that made the beast howl and the wind catch and hold the bitter scent of burning flesh. It faced her and roared its outrage, spittle flying from its gaping jaws, and, had she been another, any other, she would have been afraid.

But she was far too lost to pay heed to fear which was why, when the beast reached out to grab her as it had Bethany, she swatted it aside, quickly switching hands to unleash a second fireball. This one struck its unarmored shoulder, forcing another howl to wrench itself from its throat as it half-stumbled away.

It turned back to her and she could see its rage declining in response to its rising confusion. It wasn’t used to the surface creatures fighting back, certainly not with savagery rivaling its own. And it was that savagery that, when it lunged again, urged her to use the bladed end of her staff with a viciousness she had never known herself to possess. She slashed at its face, nearly smiling as it struck home, catching the beasts’ cheek and ripping a path straight to the bone from there to its bottom jaw, exposing its side teeth to the world along with a river of tainted and sickly-dark blood.  

The sight of the blood made her breath catch and this time she didn’t stop her lips from curling upward as the beast screamed, the sound full of something new and utterly exhilarating: _fear_. It tried to shift its focus then, desperate to escape her and the pain she offered, its legs moving as though to carry it towards the others, but she stopped the unwanted action by launching a fire spell at its feet.

It faced her once more, hate and fear warring for dominance on its twisted features and roared, the sound near-piteous in comparison to its earlier cries. Oriana allowed herself a moment to relish both that and its expression before she moved forward, watching spell after spell slither from her staffs’ end and towards the creature who, already weakened by her previous volley and the dizzying loss of blood,could do little against the onslaught besides stumble backwards.

Continuing her dauntless stride she watched as it fell to its knees and a well-timed spell froze it solid, the icy gale coating the creature with a precision that only years of practice could provide. And then, without hesitation, she launched herself from the ground and towards the beast.

For a single, shining moment, it was as though the whole world stood still.

Her heartbeat, thunderous in her ears, grew quiet and slow and it seemed it would take a lifetime for her to cover the small distance between where she’d been and where she was going. But she didn’t care because the memories etched firmly in the corners of her mind were wriggling their way to the forefront and, as her eyes slipped shut, all she could see was Bethany.

At seven, and on the verge of tears, she’d come to her, the hem of her dress torn from a fall – she’d always been so _clumsy_ , never watching where she was going; her head stuck in the clouds’ or a book or just her own thoughts – and pleaded for her help in mending it before mother saw. At eleven, she’d looked up at her and smiled the biggest smile she’d ever seen, having just completed her first _real_ spell. At fourteen, she’d spoken of her first crush, the blacksmiths’ apprentice, heat rising to darken her cheeks as she’d blushed.

The memories kept coming, flickering from one to the next faster and faster, until she was unable to catch anything but flashes. Her first spell book. Her first staff. Them, all of them, standing beside fathers’ grave. Countless trips into Lothering, sometimes just to hear the stories told by the red-haired sister. The color of her hair, the bright and unquestionable innocence of her smile. The unwavering trust in her eyes…

And then, as her feet met earth and her staff met ice, the world seemed to jerk as it fought to catch up with her, settling just in time for her to open her eyes and watch as the blow shattered the creature whole, coating the field in a thousand and one icy shards.

Panting and struggling to fight off a wave of exhaustion-fueled dizziness, she took a moment to stare at what was left of the monster and couldn’t help but think its fate oddly fitting, since that was what it had done to her heart.

She turned from the beast to find her mother kneeling over her sister’s body and the brutal reality of the moment struck her as soundly as a slap to the face. Her staff slipped from her fingers to strike the sand strewn rock below and it took every ounce of strength she possessed to keep her knees from buckling. Battling her emotions for control with every step, she made her way over to what remained of her family.

If she noticed Carver’s fearful expression or the quickness with which he removed himself from her path, she gave no indication; rather, her eyes remained locked on Bethany’s form as her steps drew the horrible sight ever nearer.

She barely made it to her side before her composure failed and she did drop to her knees, loosing a ragged breath as she struck earth. On the verge of tears she feared would never stop falling once they allowed to start, she reached out and took her sisters’ hand in her own. She knew the templar spoke, as did her mother, but their words seemed hazy and unclear, as though she was hearing them from a great distance, and she paid them little heed.

With her free hand, she reached out and brushed the hair from her sisters’ face, her fingertips grazing the still-warm skin of her face. “I’m sorry, sister,” she whispered, the words quiet enough that no one heard them save herself. “I’m sorry I failed you,” she swallowed thickly and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead as a single tear broke free of its’ brothers to carve a path through the grime staining her cheek.

“Goodbye, Bethany,”


End file.
